


Fall to Sleep

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gender Identity, Gentle Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Threesome - F/F/F, Trans Female Character, Trans!Bernadetta, its like 40/60 fluff/smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: Dorothea, Petra, and Bernadetta, having grown closer during the war, live out their post-war lives in peace and tranquility in the former imperial capital. Bernadetta settles into her new life with cautious optimism, slowly working on finding herself and being more confident in who she is. An opportunity arises when the trio are invited to the opening night of a show at Dorothea's former opera company.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Fall to Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no post! This is for Alyssa, and it was a lot of fun to write! Hope you enjoy.

Benadetta yelps, wrapping her arms around herself defensively as light floods into the bedroom. “P-Petra!” 

Petra frowns. “Is something the matter, Bernie?” She stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“I’m-” Bernadetta stammers, yanking Petra into her room and shutting the door behind her. “I’m still changing!” 

“Still changing?” Petra glances at Bernadetta, taking in her outfit. “You look lovely to me,” she shrugs. “You look...what is the word Dorothea is always using? Ravishing?”

Bernadetta blushes and shrinks back, her face lighting scarlet. “I d-don’t...I’m-” 

“Are you nervous about attending the opera?”

“I’m…” Bernadetta sighs and sits on the edge of her bed. She gazes at her window, the curtains fluttering in the late-afternoon breeze. She clutches the hem of her dress and tilts her head down. “I’m not used to dressing formally like this. Skirts are one thing, but a fancy dress…”

Petra stands by the bedside, her arms cross over her torso. She’s dressed formally in her own way, in traditional Brigid attire - her brown leathers replaced with gold-trimmed silks that drape over the angles of her body elegantly. Next to Petra, Bernadetta feels…

“I look dumb,” Bernadetta says, standing up and starting to wipe untie the back of her dress. “I’m just going to wear my usual jacket, and it’ll be fine - “

“But it is a formal event!” Petra frowns. “Would Dorothea not be more happy to see you like this? What is the saying...all dolled up?” 

Bernadetta sighs. “That’s the problem. I...I was so excited to wear the dress she helped me pick out, but now I’m just so nervous…”

“Well,” Petra says. “There is only one way to overcome this nervous feeling.” She scoops Bernadetta up and drapes her over her shoulder, making Bernadetta yelp and squirm.

“H-Hey!” Bernadetta wriggles in her grip, but it’s useless - Petra has always been stronger, strong enough to not even flinch as Bernadetta writhes and protests. “Petra, wait! Please-” 

Petra stops before opening the bedroom door and hauling Bernadetta out into the hallway. “Yes? Are you not working on your nervousness?” 

“I...I am,” Bernadetta sighs, and gives up, limp over Petra’s shoulder. “I can do it, you don’t need to carry me.” 

“You are not very heavy,” Petra jokes as she gently sets Bernadetta down. “I could carry you...bridal style? Yes?” 

“No!” Bernadetta giggles, blushing. “I mean, I can walk just fine!” 

Petra laughs too, gently reaching out to adjust the collar of Bernadetta’s dress and to comb her mussed-up hair with her fingers. “Truly, Bernadetta. You are looking as beautiful as the night sky.” 

Bernadetta blushes and tucks her face into her shoulder. “I...Are you sure?” 

“As sure as I am of anything,” Petra holds out her hand and gently grasps Bernadetta’s. “Come, Dorothea awaits!” 

-

Enbarr is bustling in the evening - it always is on weekends, when merchants and workers have time off to mill around in the streets, to visit pubs and taverns and theaters and shops, and the streets are thronged with people from all walks of life. The sun sits low in the sky, hovering in shades of red and orange over the stone buildings, casting a gradient of hues that sparkle on windows and shine through merchant stalls. 

Bernie stays close to Petra’s side, their fingers threaded together as they head towards the nightlife district, bound for the grand theater. 

Dorothea isn’t performing, of course - she hasn’t, not since leaving the opera company and attending Garreg Mach. She does still have friends in the company, of course, and is often summoned to attend shows - sometimes even dress rehearsals, both to give feedback and to spend time with her former coworkers. 

Tonight is the opening night of a new show - The Champion of Daphnel, a historical opera about one of the old heroes. Word had it around the theater that some of the songs were penned by a former Garreg Mach student who was a Blue Lion the same year that Dorothea had attended. 

Dorothea had left their apartments early, bound for the pre-show mixer where she would schmooze with singers and dancers and prop-makers and noble sponsors, leaving Bernadetta and Petra to take time getting ready. 

The streets outside the theater are busy, too - stalls are set up specifically for theater-goers, selling foods and drinks and some even hawking opera glasses. 

Petra glides through the crowd like a shadow, one hand trailing behind to keep a firm grip on Bernadetta, to ensure she isn’t lost in the throng. The two of them approach the theater. 

“Good evening, madames,” one of the attendants says. “The show won’t begin for another hour.” 

“Ah, we, um - “ Bernadetta stammers, letting go of Petra’s hands.

“We have an invitation from a Lady Arnault,” Petra says, bowing politely. “We were told to come early.”

“Ah, Dorothea’s guests. Of course,” the attendant says, gesturing past the entrance. “Right this way.” 

Bernadetta had been so nervous, but she feels grateful now that she had opted for the dress - everyone else in the theater is dressed so beautifully, in pressed suits and gorgeous gowns brimming with lace and golden thread and elegant patterns. She slips her hand back into Petra’s and squeezes. “Where do you think Dorothea is?” 

The halls of the opera theater are curves of stone lit with sparkling lights, regal read carpet tracing the paths from the theater seating to all the other facilities. 

“A hunt!” Petra grins. “We will sniff her out.” 

“Okay,” Bernadetta laughs nervously. She keeps her arms wrapped around herself, glancing around at all the other guests. It’s so many people...so many fancy people, wealthy even despite the Emperor’s plans to dissolve wealth consolidation among nobles. None are filthy rich anymore, but any with a family name and estate are head and shoulders above poor Bernie and her lost heritage. 

“Bernadetta!” comes a cheerful voice. “My, you look simply ravishing!”

“Ah, hello, Ferdie!” Petra beams. “Tell me, have you seen Dorothea? We cannot seem to find her.” 

“Don’t want to spend time with me?” Ferdinand fake pouts as he sips from a champagne flute. “Shame.” 

“We were told to meet her,” Bernadetta speaks up. 

“Well, I shall help you look, then,” Ferdinand says, bowing and holding out his arm. 

“Thank you, Ferdie,” Petra says, taking Bernadetta’s arm instead. “With the three of us combined, no prey can be hiding from us!”

Bernadetta laughs, but Petra’s hand against her arm fills her with confidence and warmth. “So, Ferdinand, what are you doing here?”

“Me? Why, I love the opera,” Ferdinand says, finishing his drink and passing it to a roaming maître d'. “Poor Hubie isn’t much for the shows, but he’s always willing to sponsor an artist here and there.” He grins playfully. “I hear that we may have an aspiring playwright in our midst right now, in fact.”

“W-what?!” Bernadetta blushes, shaking her head. “Who told you that? Was it Dorothea? It’s just a first draft! It’s not even good!” 

Ferdinand laughs and gestures. “Here’s the woman of the hour now.”

Dorothea stands at the edge of a circle of others - presumably administrative members of the opera company, considering the drinks in their hands. Dorothea laughs and lowers her own glass, saying something to one of the company members. 

“Well, it’s certainly not for lack of talent,” Dorothea is saying as the trio approaches. “She’s probably more interested in - oh! Petra, Bernie! I’m so glad you could make it.” 

She bows, turning back to the circle. “I’m sorry, we’ll have to continue this another time.”

“It is no problem,” Petra says. “We do not mean to pull you away from business.” 

“Please,” Dorothea laughs under her breath. “I left the company specifically to avoid these sorts of conversations. I’ve been looking for an out for a good half hour now.” 

Ferdinand seems to have taken her place, filling the gap in the circle and laughing along with the rest of them. “Always fitting like a glove in high society, that’s our Ferdie,” Dorothea sighs. “But Bernadetta, you look positively ravishing!” 

Petra grins. “That is what I said! She has been so nervous all evening.” 

“And for no reason, it seems,” Dorothea takes Bernadetta’s hand and lifts it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her. “A lovely as ever, Bernadetta.”

Bernie can’t even form a response, too busy blushing and stammering over Dorothea’s kiss. 

Dorothea tugs her into a gentle embrace before pulling back. “You look so beautiful,” she says. “Are you doing okay? I know it can get pretty crowded on opera nights.” 

“I’m okay,” Bernadetta forces a smile. “Petra has been with me, so I haven’t been too nervous.”

“I’m glad,” Dorothea kisses the top of her head. “And you, Lady Petra? How doth thou fare?” 

“How…” Petra frowns. “Well! I fare...fareth well.” 

Dorothea laughs and kisses her cheek. “Glad to hear it. The show’s going to start soon. Would either of you like food or drink before we take our seats?”

-

Bernadetta has always enjoyed the opera, once she makes it through the harrowing experience of navigating the streets of Enbarr. To sit in quiet darkness, enjoy a good story, and maybe hold hands with Petra or Dorothea? There’s no better way to spend an evening - save curled up inside with a good book, at least. 

Tonight’s show is enjoyable enough - she’s had her fill of shows about soldiers and knights, though. Even if this one does have a romance subplot in it, she’d prefer less fighting. Maybe there could be an opera about something more pleasant, like writers. Or songstresses. Maybe an opera about a reclusive writer kissing a songstress, something like that. 

She takes notes for her second draft. 

The songs are lovely, even with the common usage of such strange terms as ‘beasties’.

At the exciting climax, Dorothea keeps her head bowed, her eyes fixed on the seatback in front of her. Sparks of show-magic flare on the stage as the champion fights a heroic last stand, singing all the way. 

Bernadetta slips her hand into Dorothea’s and squeezes it. 

Dorothea lifts her head and gives Bernie a reassuring smile. 

And then it’s over - the curtain drops, the lights come back on, and the theater is full of viewers shuffling out of their seats and towards the reception area. The magic of the stage is gone, the story dissolved away in the theater lights. Bernadetta blinks in the brightness as she makes her way out of the seating area, trailing behind Dorothea and Petra. 

“What did you think of the show?” Dorothea asks cheerfully, her moment of somberness already vanished. “I quite liked it.” 

“It was greatly enjoyable,” Petra agrees. “Though I had trouble understanding some of the songs.” 

“Honestly, me too,” Dorothea laughs, slipping one arm around Bernadetta. “Did you enjoy it?” 

“Y-yeah,” Bernadetta nods, staring at the plush red carpet as they walk. “It was nice. A lot of fighting, though.” 

“The fighting was most enjoyable,” Petra disagrees. “The...the man who directs the fighting?”

“Choreographer?” Dorothea guesses. 

“Yes, he did a most excellent job.” She mimics a flourish of a blade. “Though if you used those moves in real battle, the enemy would make quick work of you.” 

“Well, stage fighting is meant to be more dramatic than realistic,” Dorothea says. “You need to be able to understand the action, even from the cheap seats.” 

“I liked the costumes,” Bernadetta says. “Though the cleric’s dress was a little too modern for the setting.”

“I’ll pass your notes along to the costume designer,” Dorothea laughs. “Now - dinner?” 

-

They eat at a cafe along the river, an open-air patio lit by flickering torches and starlight. Bernadetta stares past the wrought-iron railing at the water below, lapping against the walls of the canal. 

“Are you alright, Bernie?” Dorothea asks as she prods her food. “You’ve been pretty quiet all evening.” 

“Ahah,” Bernadetta laughs nervously. “Yeah, just tired I think. Kind of overwhelmed by everything.” 

Dorothea nods knowingly. It happened from time to time, especially if they spent too long out in crowds - Bernadetta’s anxiousness would wax and wane, sapping her energy as she deals with the sensory input of crowds and noise and shops and restaurants. Petra gently pats her arm.

“Would you like to go home?” Petra asks. 

Bernadetta laughs. “No, no, that won’t be necessary, I don’t want to, um, interrupt the nice evening.” 

“Well, just because we go home doesn’t mean the evening has to end,” Dorothea grins into the rim of her wineglass. “But I guess if you’re tired…”

Bernadetta’s face lights scarlet. “I- um - I mean,” she stammers, waving her arms in front of her face. “I didn’t - “

“Oh, so you’re NOT tired?” Dorothea raises an eyebrow. 

“Well, I’m - “ 

Petra gently pats Bernadetta. “It is okay, Bernie. I can carry you if you are tired.” 

“That’s not - “ Bernadetta’s blush reaches a feverish red and she buries her face in her hands. “Augh!” 

“I’m sorry for teasing you,” Dorothea reaches across the table to take one of Bernie’s hands. She pulls it down, revealing her blushing face, and gently squeezes her hand. “Let’s go home, okay?” 

The walk home is, thankfully, much more pleasant than the trip to the theater. They travel along the riverwalk, past a few stray couples. For the most part, the walk is empty, silent save the lap of water and the tap of their shoes on the paving stones. They pass under the canopy of autumn trees rustling in the nighttime wind, past wrought-metal lamps inset with burning magic flames. Even with the shadows dancing at the corner of the path, even with the black churning river, Bernadetta feels at peace. Even if there were something dangerous, she isn’t alone - she and Petra walk hand in hand, and Dorothea leads them, humming a song as they go.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It is quiet, and peaceful, and Bernadetta feels content. She’s almost sad when their apartments creep into view. 

Almost.

The rooms are empty and dark when they enter. Shapes sit on the windowsill, tangled jaws and odd angles and twisting shadow - they would be terrifying, if they didn’t have names. Bernadetta slips her shoes off and waters her windowsill plants while Dorothea and Petra unlace their complicated sandals and hang their various layers - Dorothea’s silk shawl and Petra’s ornamental capelet. 

Bernadetta hums a bit as she waters her plants - something from the opera, she thinks, though she can’t quite remember the exact song. She sets her little watering can down on the sill and prepares to start plucking dead leaves from some of the plants when arms wrap around her stomach and pull her back into a gentle embrace. 

She almost yelps, but lips press to her neck and her yelp turns to a whimper. 

“So,” Dorothea purrs in her ear. “Are you tired?”

“N...Not yet,” Bernadetta blushes, staring at her plants and trying not to focus on the warmth pooling below her stomach. She tilts her head back and Dorothea catches her lips in a kiss. 

“Petra is getting the bedroom ready,” Dorothea says softly, kissing her neck again. Her lips press harder, and teeth nip at Bernadetta’s pale skin.

Bernadetta gasps slightly, closing her eyes and melting back into Dorothea’s embrace. 

Dorothea’s hands wander, stroking the bodice of Bernadetta’s dress, reaching up and barely brushing one breast as she moves to stroke Bernadetta’s hair. 

“You really do look beautiful, Bern,” Dorothea says, kissing the top of her head. 

“N-not as beautiful as you,” Bernie tries to retort, turning around. She stares with wide eyes at Dorothea, her low-cut dress top revealing far too much to be acceptable in public. Bernadetta stares at the smooth, creamy skin of her breasts, the gentle rise and fall as she breathes. 

“See something you like?” Dorothea grins. 

“I...um…” Bernadetta nervously grasps the hem of her dress, repositioning it. “I, sorry, I’m - “

“You don’t need to apologize,” Dorothea says, gently scooping Bernie up to only minor protestation. She bridal-carries Bernadetta across the main room and towards the bedroom. Bernadetta’s face flushes red, her skin pressed against Dorothea’s. She feels warm and soft, the callouses and scars of war faded to only the palest traces. She’s a bit more round, too - the hard angles of rationing and work melted away into gentle curves. 

Petra is laying on one side of the unmade bed - the sheets are pooled at the bottom of the mattress, and the pillows are stacked against the headboard. Petra grins playfully. 

“Dorothea has caught you like a little rabbit,” she laughs. 

“Cute enough to eat,” Dorothea says, gently resting Bernadetta on the bed and kissing her again, first her lips and then the curve of her jaw. 

Bernadetta blushes, darting her eyes towards the carpet, the ceiling, anything but the woman crawling over her, nestling in between her legs as she kisses Bernadetta’s chin, her neck, the pale skin of her shoulders. 

Petra shifts across the bed, her fingers dancing across Bernadetta’s shoulders, dancing through the soft edges of her hair, supporting her as Petra slides behind her. Her lips are close, close enough to make Bernadetta shiver as she presses a kiss to her ear. 

Dorothea grins and cups Bernadetta’s face in her hands, pressing their lips together tightly, a gentle kiss, chaste despite their compromising position. 

Bernadetta mumbles something, her voice muted by Dorothea’s lips. 

She pulls back, one thumb tracing down the curve of Bernadetta’s chin. “Something the matter?”

“J-just nervous,” Bernadetta blushes, tucking her face into her shoulder. 

“Nothing to be frightened of here, Bernie,” Petra says softly, lightly kissing the space where her shoulder curves to her neck. 

“I...I know,” Bernadetta says. 

“Is this okay?” Dorothea asks, one hand resting on Bernadetta’s shoulder. “We don’t have to.”

Bernadetta nods, her movements nervous, agitated, determined. She sits up, straightening her back as she shifts forwards to press a kiss to Dorothea’s lips. 

“There’s my Bernie,” Dorothea says, her lips curving into a smile against Bernadetta’s. Her hands slip down from Bernadetta’s shoulders, letting her ease back into Petra’s lap as she gently strokes the silk of her dress, feeling the soft, lean muscle beneath. Her lithe archer’s body has lapsed in the years since the war, a softness emerging as she spends less time practicing the art of murder and more time writing and painting. The muscle remains, tensing under Dorothea’s gentle touch as Bernadetta purses her lips and instinctively jerks back. 

Petra wraps her hands around Bernadetta’s stomach, tugging her back onto her lap as she kisses Bernadetta’s neck again, nipping at the tender flesh with gentle bites. Bernadetta lets out a soft, surprised gasp into Dorothea’s mouth. 

“Good girl,” Dorothea murmurs, pressing a kiss to Bernadetta’s cheek before pulling back. She smiles playfully and reaches out to grasp one of Bernie’s hands, lifting it up and kissing the knuckle of her middle finger. “You don’t just have to look, you know. You can touch.” She grins and lets Bernadetta’s hand drop to the skin of her breasts, the warmth and softness just above the tight hem of her bodice. 

Bernadetta’s cheeks flush a darker red and she shifts her gaze to the side, inadvertently pressing her cheek against Petra’s hand. Petra cups her face and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips as her hands wander Bernadetta’s dress, fingers lightly pricking at the lace and fasteners. Bernadetta gasps as a tongue gently presses between her lips, into the soft and wet of her mouth. Her eyes widen in surprise, her surprised gasp muffled. 

“I think she likes that,” Dorothea grins, shifting back onto the bed and reaching around her back to untie her own dress. 

Bernadetta pulls back from Petra, flushed and gasping for breath as she watches Dorothea and Petra untangling themselves on the bed. Dorothea finishes untying her dress letting the stiff fabric of the body crumple away - beneath, her underwear is sheer and silky, lace accenting and supporting the curves of her breasts, a garter belt around her hips. She smiles, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Thoughts?” 

“P-pretty,” Bernadetta manages to squeak out. 

“More than pretty,” Petra says, pulling her top off. “You are gorgeous, as always, Dorothea.” Unlike Dorothea, Petra’s underwear is plain, perfunctory. Her chest-wrap comes off in a single tug, revealing her smooth dark skin, marred with old battle wounds. It’s hard for Bernadetta to notice, though, given the way her eyes gravitate to Petra’s slight breasts. Petra grins and shifts towards her, fingers drifting across the bed and brushing the hem of Bernadetta’s skirt. “How are you feeling, little rabbit?” 

“I’m, um…” Bernadetta blushes, putting her face in her hands. “Maybe, um…leave the dress on for now?”

“As you command, my sweet,” Petra says, sitting up and kissing Bernadetta gently before turning to Dorothea, still disentangling herself from her clothing, leaving her bare and pale save her elegant lingerie. 

Bernadetta remembers helping pick out that lingerie - how she blushed so deeply at the market as they sifted through racks of lace and silk and velvet. Dorothea had claimed that it was a necessary part of the outfits at opera company events, but Bernadetta suspected otherwise, her suspicions deepening as Petra crawls across the bed and mounts Dorothea, kissing her deeply as her hands rove to Dorothea’s breasts, kneading the tender flesh, fingertips pressing at the bump of her nipples, hardened under fabric. 

“Mmm, patience, my hunter,” Dorothea smiles, kissing her back, tongue lapping at the curve of her lips. She slips one hand to the hard muscle of Petra’s abdomen, snaking her fingertips up to cup Petra’s breast. The other hand drops lower, between Petra’s legs, her gentle touch drawing a startled hiss from Petra’s lips. 

Bernadetta reaches a cautious hand out tracing the angles of Petra’s legs, the muscles tensing as she responds to Dorothea’s touches. 

It’s warm, pressed against the two of them, Bernadetta thinks, sighing contentedly as she lays down at Dorothea’s side, her arms reaching out to tug Dorothea into an embrace. 

Dorothea grins, turning from Petra and kissing Bernadetta. 

“Please,” Petra says, reaching down to unfasten her belt, slipping her shorts down her legs. “Do not be making me beg, Dorothea.” 

“Aw, but you’re so cute when you do,” Dorothea smiles, kissing Bernadetta’s neck. She sinks her teeth in, making Bernie gasp, making her hands grasp out to hold something, anything - one hand snags the back of Dorothea’s head, tangling in her perfect, silky hair. Dorothea assents, sinking her head down lower, kissing Bernadetta’s collarbone, the top of her chest, her lips dipping lower, low enough to mouth the fabric of Bernadetta’s dress bodice. She reaches her hands up, cupping Bernadetta’s slight, soft breasts through her clothing, gently kneading them and coaxing a soft groan from Bernadetta’s lips. 

“Oh…” she sighs half-heartedly. “D-Doro-” 

“Too much?” Dorothea asks, lifting her face from Bernadetta’s chest. 

“Not enough,” Bernadetta says, her hand shifting from Dorothea’s head to the hem of her neckline, tugging it down, exposing her breasts. Dorothea obliges, tucking her face down and kissing the divot in the center of Bernie’s chest, moving to press her lips to one nipple before biting gently.

Bernadetta squeaks lifting a hand to bite her knuckle, muffling her groans. 

Petra slinks towards them, no longer content with just watching. She presses herself against Dorothea’s back, her hands wandering the curves of her body, cupping her breasts and kneading them. 

Dorothea groans, pressing her face to Bernadetta’s chest, her breathing deepening to something low, breathy, needful. She shifts, mounting Bernadetta’s lap, grinding herself against Bernadetta’s body, her underwear wet and warm. Bernadetta sighs, reaching a hand down to snake between Dorothea’s legs, surprised as her fingers brush Petra’s - they had the same idea, it seems, and Petra slips her hand under the edge of Dorothea’s underwear, one finger pressing into Dorothea’s warm core. Dorothea groans, grinding herself more desperately against Bernadetta, desperate for friction against herself even as another finger presses inside - Bernadetta smiles shyly and buries her face against Dorothea’s shoulder, kissing her, nipping with teeth as she presses her thumb against Dorothea’s clit, massaging her through the wet fabric of her underwear. 

Dorothea groans, shameless as she ruts against Bernadetta’s and Petra’s hands, fingers pressing into her slick warmth, fucking her gently, rhythmically. 

Petra pulls her hand away, wiping sticky wetness on the inside of Dorothea’s thighs before grasping her underwear and tugging it down, exposing her backside. Petra takes more initiative, pushing Dorothea over gently but firmly into a prostrated position, her face down on the bed, giving Petra access to kneel behind her, lips pressing to Dorothea’s silky folds, tongue lapping at her. 

Dorothea groans, pressing back, rutting against Petra’s face. 

Bernadetta groans, fumbling with her dress, regretting her earlier hesitance. 

“H-here,” Dorothea manages to get out in between gasps. “L…let me help.” She sits up and helps Bernadetta get out of her dress, grasping the hem of the skirt and pulling it up, up and over Bernadetta’s slender shoulders. Bernadetta shudders, chilly in the cold. 

Petra sits up, kneeing on the bed and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh, Bernie, you are looking so marvelous!”

“Th-thank you,” Bernadetta blushes, nervously fingering the hem of her underwear. Dorothea had helped her pick it out - left to her own devices, she’d wear plain shorts, probably. She certainly would have picked something with less lace, and certainly something less…form-fitting. 

Bernadetta gently rests a hand between her legs, partially covering and partially massaging the wet patch where her underwear tents slightly. She groans as she touches herself slightly, her other hand reaching out and tugging Petra into a deep kiss. 

She can taste Dorothea on Petra’s lips, and the thought makes her shudder. The two of them kiss, Petra pulling Bernadetta into her lap and Dorothea nestling behind Bernadetta, wrapping her hands around her now-bared stomach, warm fingertips tracing her delicate, pale skin. She slips her hands higher, cupping Bernadetta’s breasts and squeezing, massaging them to a chorus of muddled moans from Bernie’s lips. 

“Oh, Bernie,” Dorothea says, lips brushing against her ear. “Bernie, you’re doing so well.” She nips her teeth at the shell of Bernadetta’s ear. “Good girl.” 

Bernadetta melts against her, one hand weakly fumbling at Petra, reaching between her legs, feeling for the warmth and wetness of her folds. Petra lets out a gasp, sinking forward as Bernadetta’s fingers find their mark. 

“Is this okay?” Dorothea asks, one hand slipping lower, a thumb dancing along the hem of Bernadetta’s panties. 

Bernadetta nods, shaky and desperate, barely able to keep her focus on Petra. 

Dorothea slips one hand slowly into Bernadetta’s underwear, gently pawing at her cock. She gently strokes Bernadetta, cooing soft reassurances into her ear as Bernadetta squirms under her ministrations. 

Bernadetta reaches one hand back, over her shoulder tangling her fingers in Dorothea’s hair as the latter presses a kiss to her bare shoulder. Her hand words faster, massaging Bernadetta’s half-hard cock gently, her thumb smearing the wetness of Bernadetta’s precum. 

Bernadetta whimpers weakly, her hips shifting, grinding herself into Dorothea’s hand. 

“You’re doing so well,” Dorothea murmurs, kissing her shoulder blade. 

Bernadetta’s hand slips back from Petra’s legs and clutches at the bedspread, desperate for an anchor point, her whole body trembling as Petra kisses her and Dorothea gently strokes her off. Bernadetta whimpers, squirming, warmth coiling in her groin, desperate, aching needy. 

“There’s my girl,” Dorothea grins, biting the soft skin of her neck, her hand wrapping tighter as Bernadetta’s cock stiffens. “Is this okay?” she asks again, murmuring into Bernadetta’s ear.

Bernadetta nods, desperately, pleas slipping from her lips. “P-Please,” she murmurs, eyes squeezed shut. “Please, Dorothea, I-”

“Okay,” Dorothea relents, kissing her and resuming focus, her hand moving up and down the slick length of Bernadetta’s cock. She pulls her underwear down, exposing her to the cool night air. Petra grins and drops her hands down, too - one kneading her own breast and the other stroking the head of Bernadetta’s cock. She lets out a moan and leans forward, resting her chin on Bernadetta’s shoulder, giving her access to Dorothea’s lips. The two of them kiss, deeply, Bernadetta pinned between them, their bodies all moving in tandem, warm and achingly desperate. 

Bernadetta murmurs, whimpers with snatches of words in between. “I’m - “ She gasps. “I’m going to - “

If Dorothea or Petra say anything, its muffled by their lips pressing together, by the sparks exploding at the edges of Bernadetta’s vision as fire and warmth coil in her, pressure building to a crescendo. She can feel the tip of her cock press against Petra’s bare stomach, wetness smeared on her abs, and Bernadetta can’t stop herself. She gasps, moaning and thrusting into the two hands that guide her to orgasm, spilling out hot and sticky on Petra’s abdomen.

She collapses, exhausted and gasping for breath, back onto Dorothea’s lap. 

“Good girl,” Dorothea murmurs into her ear, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to her cheek. “Good girl.”

Bernadetta’s breathing comes in fits and starts, her eyes closed as she nods, too spent to respond. 

-

Bernadetta eases back into the warm bath, water lapping at the edges of the tub as she does. The whole room smells clean, like soap and lavender, snatches of Dorothea’s perfume. Dorothea is already in the water, combing her fingers through her damp hair, and Petra sits on the edge of the tub, naked, her legs dangling into the water. “It is a lovely evening, isn’t it?” Petra says idly. 

“Very,” Bernadetta agrees, weary as she sinks into the water and leans back against Dorothea. Dorothea pulls her onto her lap and kisses her lightly. “Not as lovely as you two.”

“Boo,” Bernadetta laughs.

“That is…what do you say? That is a bad joke,” Petra says, chuckling despite herself. “You say that one too often.”

“It’s not my fault if its true,” Dorothea murmurs, resting her head against Petra’s thigh. “I think I just might be the luckiest lady in all of Fódlan .”

“Mm, that can’t be, because I’M the luckiest lady in all of Fódlan,” Bernadetta protests sleepily, closing her eyes.

“Then I,” Petra says, gently stroking Bernadetta’s hair, “am the luckiest lady in Brigid.” 

“But you’re in Fódlan,” Dorothea raises an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps,” Bernadetta sighs. “We are all equally lucky to have one another.” 

“Aye,” Petra nods. “I am agreeing with that.” 

Dorothea kisses the top of Bernadetta’s head. “Agreed, then.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! As always, you can come say hey at @cowboy_sneep on twitter or @lucisevofficial on tumblr!


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